Hiding His Sick Child From The CEO

The hot tears hitting his skin did nothing to soften the hard lines of Julien's face. He abruptly let go of her jaw.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a dark silk handkerchief, and slowly wiped his fingers.

The gesture was a physical slap to Carla's face. It completely shattered whatever dignity she had left.

Julien reached into his other pocket. He pulled out a heavy metal object and dropped it onto her dashboard.

Clang.

Carla looked down. It was her piano tuning wrench. She must have dropped it by the Steinway when she ran.

Julien looked down at her. "Get out of the car. You're having coffee with me. Consider it payment for returning your tool."

Carla clenched her jaw. "I don't need the wrench. I have another appointment. Let me go."

Julien let out a dark chuckle. He pointed a finger at the broken door handle, then at his Aston Martin blocking her in. "You aren't leaving this garage until we have coffee."

Carla knew she had no choice. She grabbed her bag and forced herself out of the cramped car, her legs shaking as she stood up.

He led her out of the garage and into a high-end, boutique cafe right next to the rehab center.

The cafe was dripping in wealth. Soft jazz played through hidden speakers. The patrons were dressed in designer clothes, sipping espresso.

Carla stood in her faded coat, feeling the weight of a dozen wealthy eyes on her. She pulled her collar tighter around her neck, wishing she could disappear.

Julien guided her to a corner table. He ordered a black coffee in flawless French, not even bothering to ask Carla what she wanted.

When the waiter placed the cup down, Julien crossed his long legs. His dark eyes locked onto Carla like a spotlight during an interrogation.

Carla kept her head down. Her hands were in her lap, her fingers twisted together so tightly her nails dug into her own flesh.

Julien took a slow sip of his coffee. "I hear you charge by the hour now as a substitute?" his tone was casual, but the blade was hidden underneath.

Carla took a deep breath. She forced her head up. "It's honest work. I don't steal."

Julien's eyes darkened instantly. He leaned forward, his broad chest closing the distance between them.

"You don't steal?" he repeated softly. "Then what do you call the money you took from the Wagner family?"

Carla's heart seized. Her stomach cramped violently.

"That was..." Carla swallowed hard, forcing out the exact words the Non-Disclosure Agreement legally required her to say. "That was my compensation for my youth."

The lifeless, rehearsed words acted like gasoline on a fire.

Julien slammed his porcelain cup down onto the saucer. The loud crash made several people at the surrounding tables jump.

They looked over, but the second they saw the million-dollar Patek Philippe watch on Julien's wrist, they quickly looked away.

"Compensation for your youth," Julien gritted his teeth. The veins in his neck stood out. Pure, unadulterated jealousy and rage burned in his eyes.

"And the engagement ring I gave you?" he demanded. "You pawned it the very next day. Was that just for the cash, too?"

Carla's eyes burned. The memory of sitting outside that pawn shop, sobbing until she threw up, just to pay her father's first legal fee, tore at her chest.

But she couldn't tell him. She nodded stiffly. "Yes. Cash is more practical than a stone."

Julien laughed. It was a terrifying, hollow sound. The last trace of human warmth left his eyes.

He reached into his wallet, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and slammed them down onto the table right in front of her.

"Since you love cash so much," Julien sneered. "Sing the Bridal Chorus for me right now. All of this is yours."

The bills scattered across the table. Carla's face drained of all color. She felt as though he had stripped her naked in the middle of the crowded room.

Before she could react, Julien's phone lit up on the table.

The caller ID flashed brightly: Charis.